


Peace in Quiet Places

by justanothersong



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divorce, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Garden Gnomes, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Canon, Second Chances, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: As the weather improved and his children stood to watch their mother remarry, Harry took to the natural places in the wizarding world, forests and meadows where magical creatures still lived in the wild, undisturbed by Muggles or wizards alike. That was when he found her, and forgot how to breathe.





	Peace in Quiet Places

Ginny was crying. Harry hated to see her cry. She rarely did, rarely let the tears break free. She was strong, like her mother; tough as nails when she had to be. But this was different -- this was no foe to be defeated, no injury to grit her teeth against and carry on during an important match on the quidditch field. No, this was far worse.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she told him, and Harry believed her. He nodded, unsure of what to say. Part of him had been expecting this to happen, waiting for it, for years now.

It had been different when they were young. The war had ended, they had won, but not without taking great losses. It seemed only natural that they find solace in each other’s arms. And then everyone was pairing off, getting married… it seemed the right thing to do, make it permanent, make it official. After all, he’d always been something of a surrogate son to Molly and Arthur, it made sense that he should join the family for good.

But as the wounds healed and the scars faded, he felt the change within him. He loved Ginny, of course; he always had. It was only after they were married, after the children were born and they had settled into their lives together, that he realized it wasn’t really the way a man should love his wife. He’d never felt that with Ginny, not the sparks, the little fluttery-heart feeling of infatuation, of romance, of passion. 

He loved Ginny, but he’d never been in love with her, not really. He had long suspected the same of her.

Harry would have been content to leave it as it was, to go through the motions, share their bed, raise their children, and never give it another passing thought, but he knew that would never happen. Ginny was a beautiful, passionate woman; one day someone would come along who could light the flame in her heart. That someone had finally come.

 

Harry didn’t know much about the man, only that his name was Rowan and he was an assistant coach for the Ballycastle Bats that she had spoken to for a piece she had been writing on them for the Prophet. The Bats were doing well this year and it seemed Rowan was always ready to give a few words for the paper, and before Ginny realized what was happening, their brief interviews were turning into cups of tea and late suppers after Ginny stayed long in the office.

It was entirely innocent yet -- Ginny swore that, and Harry believed her. But she was feeling things, and she knew he was too.

Harry couldn’t fault her for it. And he couldn’t hold her back.

He held her as she cried, silently thinking on the strangeness of the whole situation. Stranger still was how he felt, not upset, not even hurt, but relieved.

 

It was strange to navigate the divorce. Apparently it was something that just didn’t happen much in the wizarding world. Leave it to the Boy Who Lived to fumble his way through a near archaic process, a few irritating reporters buzzing around in hopes to grab a new headline based on his famous name.

Then there were the children to think of, explaining what was happening while assuring them they were all still very much loved, and that their father would not disappear from their lives. He had chosen to leave, to carve out some place of his own -- something he’d never really had. 

Molly Weasley hadn’t known what to make of it. She wanted her girl to be happy, her only daughter, but she loved Harry as though he were her own. They promised up and down that things wouldn’t change too much, that Harry would be as much a part of the family in the aftermath as he ever was, but Molly still had been upset. 

Harry chose to spend the holidays on his own that year. It would have been too awkward, what with Rowan meeting the entire family for the first time. He and Ginny would be wed in the Spring, and Harry wanted to help make that transition as smooth as possible, if only for the children.

Lily kept sending him owls, asking why he couldn’t be there, and it just about broke Harry’s heart. He had been moping a little, spending Christmas Eve alone, staring at the fireplace, when a knock came at the door of his rented cottage. He was shocked to find his godson, Teddy, standing there, arms full of gifts from the Weasely’s and snow in his hair. It turned out to be a lovely Christmas after all.

It marked a change for Harry, who had simply been treading water for months now.

“You’ve got to get out there, Harry!” Teddy had pressed. “There’s a whole wide world, you know? You’re not so old yet, right?”

Harry laughed dryly. “Thanks for that,” he had responded in an injured tone, even as he smiled.

 

He decided to take Teddy’s advice. When the children went back to school, after they’d spent some days together before their break ended, Harry took a little more time off and decided to see the world again, all the places he missed and all the ones he missed out on.

He visited with Dudley; it was awkward at first but soon enough became pleasant. He took a stroll past the old place at Privet Drive and even visited the zoo where he’d once chatted with a python without realizing what he had done, just for a laugh. A familiar face or two passed in his wake, members of Dudley’s old gang or ancient neighbors, who all regarded him with some suspicion. It just seemed funny to him now.

When he’d had enough of the Muggle world, a world where he had never truly belonged, he turned back to the quiet, secret places that existed outside of that realm. Visited old friends, visited old graves; sought out the magic in the world that he’d never been able to see with his own eyes, too entrenched in the grand war between good and evil that had been building long before he had ever step foot at Hogwarts. 

As the weather improved and his children stood to watch their mother remarry, Harry took to the natural places in the wizarding world, forests and meadows where magical creatures still lived in the wild, undisturbed by Muggles or wizards alike. That was when he found her, and forgot how to breathe.

The sun was setting, the golden light making her hair, hanging long and loose, seem to shimmer. She stood with her back to him in waist-high grass, face tipped up towards the sky, seemingly searching for something. 

He drew a deep breath, ready to call out to her, hoping he wouldn’t startle her, but meadow suddenly erupted in a flurry of motion. Butterflies, beautiful shimmering golden butterflies, burst forth from the grass, surrounding her in a whirlwind of glittering light. She laughed then, a joyful sound, arms outstretched into the fray as the butterflies swirled around her, some alighting on her fingertips before launching back into the sky, swarming together off to parts unknown.

She turned suddenly, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat again. She was so beautiful, silver eyes lit with mirth, hair a golden halo in the dying light of the sun. Was she always this beautiful? Why hadn’t he ever seen it before?

A languid smile grew on her lips. “Oh there you are, Harry,” she said in greeting, as though she had been looking for him all along.

 

Luna became a constant after that. Harry didn’t need to see any more of the world, not now that he had Luna. They talked about the paths their lives had taken, the gaps in their shared history quickly filled in. They talked about the ways the world had changed since those long ago days at school. Sometimes, they didn’t need to talk at all; they just sat together in a comfortable quiet, Luna’s slim figure curled up against his side in front of the fireplace, her pale hands reaching to twine their fingers together with a soft, pleased sigh.

It was different. There were inklings of what he remembered feeling as an adolescent, when the first girl he fancied smiled his way, but somehow changed. Somehow more. Butterflies in his stomach, a tingling in his fingertips, aching to touch, to explore. But more than that. A strange settling in his chest, something he couldn’t remember ever having experienced, not like this.

Hope. Peace.

Luna tipped up her face and smiled at him, long lashes hiding those beautiful eyes in the dimness of the firelight.

“It’s late,” she said softly. “Take me to bed, Harry.”

 

In the darkness of the lone bedroom in his little cottage, Harry was terrified. There had only ever been Ginny for him. What if he wasn’t any good? What if she decided it was a bad idea, decided to leave him, humiliated? What if she decided that it just wasn’t right, not after all the years that had passed, not after what they had all meant to each other as children? What if…?

Luna smiled, a slow, loving grin. “Harry,” she admonished gently, reaching up to take off his glasses, gently folding them closed and setting them down on the pillow beside her.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she told him, voice so soft and sweet. “It’s only me. It’s only us.”

The world had gone a little blurry, a little soft around the edges, but Harry felt his anxieties slipping away. It was Luna, after all; only Luna, only him, only the two of them together. He kissed her then and she gave a pleased little sigh; just like that, Harry forgot everything he had been worrying about.

 

Luna makes morning tea in mismatched socks and one of Harry’s jumpers. She throws crusts of bread to the garden gnomes through the kitchen windows and laughs as they tumble over themselves to grab them; she’s already mentioned the idea of knitting them little hats.

They sit in the breakfast nook and Luna twines their fingers together. When she smiles in the morning light, Harry remembers the butterflies all those months ago, and thinks they must live in his heart now, fluttering about whenever Luna smiles.


End file.
